


If I Never Knew You

by sentimental_boy



Series: Matt Murdock imagines [68]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, F/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentimental_boy/pseuds/sentimental_boy
Summary: You're depressed and you fall back into old habits. Matt does what he can.





	If I Never Knew You

You’ve had problems with depression since you were a teenager. Being young, feeling alone, and not knowing another way out, you started cutting. At first, it went by unnoticed. It was on your thighs, so you didn’t wear shorts. Then a suicide attempt followed. After the hospital released you, your parents made sure you saw a psychiatrist and got the medication you needed.

Now, you wonder if things would’ve been different if you had someone like Matt in your life then. You know better than anyone that being with someone doesn’t cure depression but still. Matt struggles with the same depression you do- not to mention his anxiety and inferiority complex. It’s something that you help each other with, even if it’s just holding one another on your bad days, making sure the other doesn’t do something they’ll regret later. In the two years you’ve been with Matt, he’s learned about the scars on your thighs. When he stumbled across them, he heard your breath hitch, your heart speed up, and carefully asked what they were from. You told him about your past and he simply held you close, placing a tender kiss to your temple. All he said was I’m glad you’re here. You started sobbing.

So, that’s it. That’s your history of depression and your history in relation to your relationship with Matt. That brings us to now. It’s a bad day. Your pills are increasing your anxiety, you had a hysterical, pathetic, panic attack at work, complete with gasping, heaving crying which half your coworkers saw. All over some stupid mistake. So, fun. You hate taking pills anyway, so you decide to stop before something like that happens again. You’ll talk to your doctor about it at your next appointment. In the meantime, you’ll manage. Right?

Wrong. By the next week, you start having suicidal thoughts again. You’ve always been passé about the topic; joking about wanting to die- even with your history. As you’re driving home from work one day, your mind wanders, and you think I wouldn’t even care if I died. It takes you back; you haven't felt like that for a while- at least not to this extent. Still, you can’t stop your mind from wandering from there. What if you did kill yourself? What is there to live for anyway? Yes, you love Matt, your family, and friends, of course. But it’s so hard to feel even that. You’re numb; your emotions are only a fading memory. You have the knowledge that you love people, more than the actual feeling. It’s not a good way to live. Anxiety isn't better though; just… different.

When you do get home, you get your cat and your laptop and sit on the sofa, trying to get your mind off your self-destructive thoughts. It doesn’t seem to work, though. As you sit there, you find yourself missing the rush it gave you when you used to cut. The pain reminded you that you were alive when you were feeling numb. For years now, on your meds, you looked back on those dark moments with relief that you were able to get the help you needed. Now you don’t even care. You don’t care that you met Matt; you don’t care that for a while, you were doing well; you don’t care that you love the city and your friends here. Nothing that makes your heart light up, is making you feel anything. So you go to get your box cutter you used at your old job. You go sit on the tile floor and extend the blade, inspecting the silver shine of it. It’s as you’re pressing it into your thigh, that you hear the front door open. In your haste to cover up your relapse, you drop the box cutter and it clatters to the ground. “Fuck.” You breathe out.

You hear Matt call out your name, and rush to you. You know he’ll find you, so you curl into yourself and wait for Matt to come in and start chastising you.

“Y/n? What’s going on?”

You look up at his furrowed brows and parted lips. “I…” you trail off, not thinking of a convincing lie.

Matt sighs, picks up the box cutter, and retracts the blade, setting it on the sink. He tilts his head and breathes in the smell of copper where you pierced the skin on your leg. Before he says anything else, he wets a washcloth and sits next to you, holding it to your leg. “Did something trigger this?” He asks.

“Not really. I’ve been off my meds for about a week now. I needed to feel something. To prove to myself that I can still feel.”

He tisks, but it’s not condescending. It’s more… compassionate; heartbroken, you could even say. He opens his arms to you and when you lean into his embrace, he winds his arms tighter around you. “Sweetheart, why did you stop taking your meds?”

“They were making my anxiety worse, and I had a bad panic attack at work.”

He holds you tighter. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

When you go quiet, he goes on.

“I’m not hurt, I just need you to know that I’m here for you. No matter how busy I am, or what I’m going through, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“I know, Matt. It was such a stupid mistake, and it was my fault, and I started crying in my manager’s office and it escalated from there. I was angry about the mistake, then I was upset that I was getting so upset over what amounts to nothing. The fact that I was crying in front of my manager and he was still talking through it, so I couldn’t walk away and-” You sigh and slump forward, defeated. “You know how anxiety is. It makes you react irrationally to situations.”

He runs his hand up and down your back. “I do know. I’m sorry you had to go through that in front of everyone.” He pauses, calculating his words. “But sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t quit cold turkey like this again. You mean so much to me; I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Think about all the time we’ve had together. You were happy then, right?”

You nod against his chest.

“I’m not saying that’s what this was, but imagine if you had succeeded when you tried to commit suicide the first time. We never would’ve met. I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve brought so much support, and love, and happiness back into my life. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“You’ve done the same for me, Matt.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I’m glad. If there’s anything I can do to help you now, you know I’m here, right?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Matt.”

“Of course.” He places a kiss on your temple.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that you’re not betraying my trust if you need to talk to someone like Foggy or your priest about this. Right? You need to take care of yourself too.”

He nods. “I think that’s a good idea.” He holds you in silence for a minute. “When is your next Doctor’s appointment?”

“A couple weeks.” You murmur.

“Have you called to see if you can move it up?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

You shrug. “I doubt they’ll be able to do it sooner.”

“Okay, will you start taking your antidepressants again?”

You sigh. “I know I need to but my anxiety is so amplified with them. I hadn’t had a panic attack in years before this.”

“I know.” He squeezes you and runs his hands over your arms. “I know how horrible panic attacks are. I don’t have the words to express how terrible it feels to not have control of yourself like that. To feel like you’re going insane or like you’re dying. I know. But this isn’t an alternative.” He shakes his head. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, Matt.” You murmur. It’s all you can push past the lump growing in your throat.

“No, y/n, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk down to you or make you feel small in any way. I love you so much.”

You finally lose it. In hindsight, you’re surprised you didn’t lose it sooner with all the love and support he’s been showering on you. When Matt gathers you closer, it only makes you sob harder into his satin dress shirt.

You lose track of time as you sit on the tile floor with Matt holding you close, stroking his hands through your hair and along your back. He sits there, quietly comforting you until your sobs turn into little shudders and you start to breathe normally again.

“Y/n, can I ask you something, about this?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“Why did you start cutting?”

You sigh. “It’s something I can control when I feel like I can’t control anything else.”

“Okay.” he presses his lips together and nods. “Okay. I can think of ten different ways to take control of your life right now.”

You look at him.

“Let’s start with the part of your brain that’s making you feel empty and out of control in the first place.” He helps you up and goes to the kitchen, pouring you a glass of water and bringing you your pills. He holds them out for you to take. Once you’ve taken your pill, he sets the water on the coffee table and takes a seat next to you. “Do you like your job?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Okay. You have a few choices. You can stay at this job you hate and do nothing about it. You can stay at this job and start taking classes for something you do want to do. You can look for another job and take classes, or you can just look for another job. It’s not going to change the fact that you have depression, but it’s one thing you can control. You’re not stuck with anything. I know it’s hard and you don’t have the motivation or interest in getting on the computer and filling out applications, but that’s how you do it. It’s a start at least. Another way to take control is to get help. There’s no shame in that. I’m here for you, always, but I’m not a professional. Talk to your doctor about trying another medication. Go see a psychiatrist if you think it’ll help. There are so many constructive options, y/n.”

“Yeah, maybe you should take your own advice.” You laugh, wiping at your eyes.

He gives you a sad smile. “Yeah, I probably should.”

-0-

After your relapse, you started taking your pills on a regular basis again, talked to your doctor about the anxiety, and together, you found a treatment that was right for you.

“Matt?” You start one day after you can look at your relapse retrospectively.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to say thank you for being there for me, even when it wasn’t easy to be. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

Matt pulls you closer to him on the sofa, wrapping his arms around you. “I love you. I don’t want anyone to have to go through what you do, but I especially don’t want you feeling like that. I know it’s not something either of us can change, though, so of course, I was there for you. I mean it y/n, I love you. Besides that, helping someone, whenever you have the opportunity, is the right thing to do. It shouldn’t be a debt that has to be repaid.” He runs his hand over your thigh.

“Still, thank you, for being here.”

He squeezes you and kisses your temple. “I always will be.”


End file.
